The Scot's Pursuit - Keira Montclair Page 0,10

there was a wee dark-haired lass racing toward them.

“Mama said I could come, Dyna,” the lass said, hurrying over to a mounting stone and whistling for a horse. “Good lass,” she said, patting the dark brown horse that pranced to her side.

Dyna had an amused look as she said, “Branwen, this is Chrissa, Alick’s sister.”

“Greetings to you, Branwen. Do you like my brother? I saw you dancing with him last night,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. Before Branwen could sputter out a reply, the lass took off for the forest.

Dyna mounted one of the horses and pointed to another for Branwen. “Chrissa loves to follow me around. She’s allowed only when there are guards about. She’s sweet but can be a wee bit mischievous, so do be aware around her. She’s only ten and two winters.”

Branwen nodded, a little entertained by the fact that this was Alick’s sister. One of the guards helped her mount, and they took off. Although she didn’t know where they were going, she suspected it was another practice area. A more secluded one.

Chrissa was in the lead briefly, but two guards quickly rode up to flank her. Being of a noble family, she wouldn’t be allowed to go off on her own. Apparently, it didn’t stop her from doing as she pleased.

Away from everyone, just the way she liked it. She savored in the sensation of the breeze blowing the fine strands of her hair away from her eyes. Oh, to be free like this always. Part of her was tempted to just turn the horse and take off galloping.

But even as the fancy crossed her mind, Dyna held her hand out, indicating she was to stop and dismount. She followed the other woman’s silent orders and trailed her to a chest hidden in the bushes.

The guards spread out and lit a few torches around the area. The Grants often practiced in the dark, apparently.

Alick’s sister took out a bow from the chest. “This is my favorite because I can hit the target with this one. Someday, I’ll be as good as Dyna, and they’ll allow me to travel with the warriors.” She aimed and fired, hitting the target just off to the side. “Got him in the shoulder, Dyna.” She fired two more quick arrows, then headed off toward the target to retrieve them.

“She won’t bother you, I promise,” Dyna said, pulling out a variety of bows, which she arranged in a circle around them. “’Tis important for you to find the right weapon or you’ll not be able to handle it quickly,” she said. “See which one feels best to you. You must be able to pull it out and ready it quickly. It could be attached to your back, or you may choose to have it ready on your horse. Which will work best for you?”

She stammered, “I’ll have to hide it.”

Dyna paused to look her over. “Who exactly is it that worries you?”

Branwen shrugged, briefly considering how much she should reveal to this woman she’d just met.

Of course, she had already told her she wished to defend herself from someone.

Dyna reached down to touch Branwen’s cheek, turning it toward the torch that lit the clearing. “Do you wish to retaliate against the person who bruised your face with such a hard slap?”

Branwen blushed, ashamed it was bad enough to be seen in the dark. “Not exactly.”

“Why not? I’ll repay the bastard if you’d like. Who did it?”

“My father. It was my fault. I spoke with your cousin without his permission.” And much, much worse. She’d gone outside with him. Kissed him.

“But did I not hear that Alick stopped your father from striking you?”

She looked down. “Aye, but Father took me outside later when he was not being watched. He enjoys punishing me.”

“So you spoke with Alick, and ’twas all it took for your father to get angry?”

She summoned the will to look up at Dyna again, and saw nothing but warmth and understanding in her eyes. “I’m not allowed to speak with strange men.”

“I’ve heard of bastards like that,” the other woman said with a fierce expression. “Let me tell you the truth of it. No one treats their daughters like that on Grant land. If you’re wise, you’ll do what you can to get away from him. You will enjoy your life much more if you find the right clan or the right husband.”

Branwen fiddled with the folds of her skirt, brushing away imaginary lint. “You speak as